Wrecked

If you are me, you write to feel seen, but you write in riddles because the thought of someone studying the full picture terrifies you to pieces.

You write to unload because if you have to take one more step carrying this baggage you'll unload it onto some unsuspecting passerby (that could've gone their whole life not knowing the contents of your garbage mind).

Do I actually think my mind is garbage?

No, since I'm out here spilling the stupid thing for the world to digest, (but if my writing gives you heartburn, I tried to warn you, babe).

I don't need to curse to make you recoil at my sentences, because my writing is like me... pretty until you take a closer look and realize, something about this chick gives middle-finger-energy.

I guess my writing is what happens when you go from being hurt and being traumatized to realizing you have the same power to hurt others as well.

There's a shot of honesty for you.

How come I never hear anyone say it?

"Hey world, I became everything I ever hated."

Or maybe something more simple:

"Thought I was one of the good guys."

I'm saying a lot of things people don't say.

Let's take today as an example. I went to a function where I saw some people I hadn't seen in a long time and it wasn't anything they said with their lips, it was more like what glared at me from behind their eyes. Like, freaking say it, dude.

You're mad at me. You blame me. You... what is it? Expected more from me?

Whatever it was, it's clear they had gossipped about me to each other. How refreshing if I could just say:

"Hey, I don't know what you think I did or didn't do, but you have no idea what I have been through, and what's worse, you never called me to see if I was okay."

Does that make me the hypocrite for pointing out their faults and not owning up to the fact that I also didn't say what was behind my eyes? Yeah, maybe that's what I am. Hypocritically Messy.

No, I take that back.

I'm positively wrecked.

Because I am blessed with everything I could ever want but then on the inside I have to deal with my cynical mind, constantly taunting me that it's only a matter of time before I single-handedly destroy everything good in my life.

Because after enough years of living, I finally see that I am the villain in my own story. And no, it's not because I have an internal dialogue with more than one voice at the same time and one of them periodically tries to kill me.

That, children, is called mental illness. Can you say it with me?

Mental illness!

Good!

*laughs cynically*

I'm kidding. Don't send me to the scary place with the squishy walls...

Again...

Kidding!

👀

I'm the villain because the moment something good happens in my life, I can't just say thank you to Jesus and enjoy myself. No. I have to spiral into a cyclone of binge brownie eating and self-doubt.

Feeling that energy I mentioned earlier? Yeahhh.

Maybe I'm tired of the expectations I put on myself. Or the ones I assume everyone else is imposing on me.

Maybe it's my people-pleasing tendencies. It's ironic, isn't it? That I'm over here writing like I hate people but in reality I just... want them to like me? *vomits in her mouth*

Is it really that moronically simple?

Ugh! Pathetic.

I think I just want them to see me. And there are some people that do... gosh, those are the hardest ones to let go of. In those moments, you feel irrevocably validated, and in turn, you see them, too. That kind of connection is so beautiful. So rare. And yes, it always ends with me having to say goodbye to them because... well, now I just feel like I keep repeating myself.

I'm not good at holding on to good things, okay? Especially if I find them in a moment of vulnerability or poor judgement. Some could argue they were never good if that's how they came about. Either way...

You want to be seen for who you are and not judged, but I'm learning the older I get, the less likely that is to happen and I think the real secret to maintaining any sense of self-acceptance in the face of this kind of perusal is to not care. To be yourself, who God created you to be, and to just leave everything else up to Him.

Oh, surprised that I brought God into this conversation? You must be new here, babes.

Yes, I'll say it... I'm that Bible thumping, nose-ring-wearing, semicolon tattoo donning Jesus Freak.

And no it's not because I grew up in church.

It's because other than writing, God is the Person I can go to with anything and everything. I can be real with Him and He keeps it real with me.

Like right now, for example.

I'm out here blabbing, and all the while he is waiting for me in the corner of my room like, are you finished yet? You know I have the answers.

To which I say, "I know Lord, let me cook though."

Does God roll his eyes? If He does, pretty sure He does it with me.

But you know what I love about Him? He's always there to put me back together when I pull a Humpty-Dumpty on the page. He gave me writing, after all. To cope. To analyze. To work through. To mourn. To celebrate. To breathe. All of it.

Where was I before we got talking about God?

Ah, yes. Wanting to be seen, loved and understood... wanting to not carry the heavy load alone...

If only I knew someone who would understand the gravity of my moral failures...

You feel that? Yeah. It's God giving me a side-eye.

"Alright Lord, I think I'm ready now."

Before I go... thanks for listening.

Maybe being wrecked from time to time isn't so bad after all.